


Parental Obligations

by wanderinghooves



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Family Bonding, Father-Son Relationship, Feel-good, Fluff, One Shot, Other, Pepper Potts is a G, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Short & Sweet, Sick Character, Sickfic, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, cute with some plot, happy fic, iron dad and spidey son, listen i just saw infinity war i need this, nothing heavy, parental nurturing, peter parker is a good kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-02 22:06:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14554524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderinghooves/pseuds/wanderinghooves
Summary: “What are you doing with the kid? Here?”Tony groans under the combined strain of both Peter’s weight and his ridiculous backpack.“Babysitting.”(Peter gets sick while May is out of town, and responsibility falls to Tony.)





	Parental Obligations

It is barely light outside when Tony gets the alert.

"What the hell?" 

His vision is abruptly flooded with a flashing red pulse, accompanied with a cartoonishly obnoxious siren. 

Pepper stirs next to him, shoving a pillow over her head which muffles her subsequent groan.

Annoyed, Tony silences the alarm with a wave of his hand, lurching out of the bed. He doesn't feel like getting yelled at by Pepper this early in the morning, so he shuffles into the adjacent room to summon FRIDAY. 

Snapping his fingers, the AI's dashboard materializes before him. 

"Explain yourself."

"You'll have to be more specific, sir."

Tony exhales slowly, not in the mood for sass.

"Why did you just decide to throw a disco in my bedroom at _seven in the morning?_ On a Saturday?"

"I was simply responding to your new Baby In Danger alert system, sir. The one you implanted in Peter Parker's jacket."

Tony frowns at the screen, momentarily confused, but then realization dawns. 

"Oh, God. Is that what that does?"

"You programmed it yourself, sir."

He rubs the bridge of his nose.

"Alright. Whatever. What set it off?"

"Peter Parker's vital readings are compromised."

Tony is suddenly very awake. 

He jabs at the holo screen, pulling up the Baby In Danger program. Data flits past in a flood of numbers and symbols.

"Read 'em off."

"Current heart rate is 115 beats per minute. Current temperature is 102.1 degrees. Respiration rate is 28 breaths per minute. Blood pressure is-" 

"That's enough. Can you get his location?"

"Peter Parker is currently at his residence in Queens."

Tony squints at the screen for a moment, attempting to parse this information, when-

"You have an incoming call from Peter Parker."

He punches the symbol glowing before him.

"Good. He needs to explain himself."

When the call connects, the first sound Tony hears from the other line is a long, wet cough, and his shoulders slump in subconscious relief.

"Gross, kid."

"Sorry, Mr. Stark, I didn't mean to- I mean, I didn't want to bother you, but it's just that-"

Peter's voice is abruptly cut off by another fit of coughing.

"You don't sound too hot."

He can hear a shallow sigh.

"I don't feel so good either."

"Where's your aunt?"

"She's upstate until tomorrow night, she has some training thing for her new job- oh God, she's gonna freak out when she finds out I got sick here by myself-" 

"Give me 20."

There's a pause on the other line.

"What?"

"Give me 20 minutes, I'll come get you."

"Oh, no, Mr. Stark, you don't have to- I mean, I just needed to tell an adult, I didn't think that-" 

"See you in a sec, kid."

Before Peter can splutter any further, Tony ends the call.

 

***

 

It’s closer to seven-thirty when Tony arrives, no thanks to the Queens-Midtown tunnel traffic. 

If nothing else, this gives him an excuse to drive himself for once; Happy was most certainly still asleep, and it’s sort of refreshing to be the one behind the Mercedes wheel, swearing at idiots on 21st street.

Some of the bliss is compromised, however, when he is forced to parallel-park outside of Peter’s apartment complex. Thankfully it is early enough that few people are on the street to witness him making a fool of himself.

Slamming the sedan’s door with some vigor, Tony trots up the metal stairs to the apartment. 

Gingerly, he knocks on the door.

“Kid? You there?”

He hears some scuffling inside the apartment before Peter cracks the door open.

The kid looks like shit. His face is a pasty white, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. In addition to his fleece Spiderman hoodie, he’s apparently dragged the duvet off of his bed.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, you really didn’t have to.”

Tony frowns appraisingly at him.

“Yeah, I did. Somebody has to make sure you don’t die while May’s gone, or she’ll kick both our asses.”

Peter merely responds by coughing into his elbow, and Tony leans slightly away.

“Yeesh. Come on, let’s get in the car.”

Peter instantly turns away and heads back into the apartment.

“Hey, where do you think you’re-“

The sound of shuffling echoes from within, and Peter calls back faintly.

“Let me pack up my backpack.”

Tony cocks his head.

“It’s a Saturday.”

Peter returns to the door, backpack on his shoulder and sans duvet. 

“I have a huge calculus test on Monday, I’ve gotta look at some stuff.”

Tony’s eyes threaten to roll out of his head.

“Give me a break, kid. You need to be more worried about, I don’t know, not hacking out an organ.”

Peter, however, brushes past him resolutely before abruptly slumping against the wall as soon as he descends the first few stairs. 

Tony wrests the backpack from his shoulder.

“Alright, nope. I’m putting the kibosh on this right now.”

Peter grabs at the straps as the bag is held out of his reach.

“No, Mr. Stark, please, I _have_ to- I have to pass this test, it’s like 25% of my grade- And I can’t get a bad grade in this class-“

Tony squeezes his eyes shut. This damn kid.

“Ok. Fine. You can bring the math. But I am going to be carrying the backpack.”

Peter relents, and Tony slings the bag over his shoulder. He slumps with drama.

“Jesus, what did you put in this thing, bricks?”

 

***

 

Peter ends up dozing most of the way back to the tower, which is miraculous considering Tony’s aggressive style of driving. 

Eventually, he wakes up somewhere between 2nd and Park Avenue, and a five-minute scuffle ensues in which Tony has to restrain him from starting his math homework in the car.

“Can you chill for even ten seconds, please?”

“I need to learn.”

“You don’t need to do anything right now other than not snotting up my car.”

Peter mutters incoherently, but soon, he’s out again like a light.

Once they arrive at the tower, Tony pats himself on the back for his foresight to include a centrally integrated automobile elevator. He really didn’t want to have to bodily drag the kid into the standard one.

He does have to haul Peter out of the car and into the living room, however. Pepper’s at the adjoining coffee bar, and she looks at him with some disbelief. 

“What are you doing with the kid? Here?”

Tony groans under the combined strain of both Peter’s weight and his ridiculous backpack.

“Babysitting.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“Seems awfully humanitarian of you.”

He shrugs, dropping Peter gracelessly onto the nearby couch along with his bag.

“Well, he’s not exactly in the best shape and May is out of town. So now I have to play house.”

“That’s cute.”

Pepper walks over, peering at Peter’s limp form. Without warning, she leans down and presses a cheek to his forehead. Tony balks.

“Whoa, what’s-“

She straightens up, mussing the kid’s hair absentmindedly. 

“He’s burning up. Flu?”

Tony gesticulates rapidly between her and Peter.

“Wait, are we not gonna talk about your little touchy-thing just now?”

“Alright, Mister I-drive-thirty-minutes-out-of-the-way-to-pick-up-a-sick-kid-at-seven-AM. You’re not the only person on this planet who cares about him.”

Tony figures it’s ultimately better not to argue with her if avoidable, so he just furrows his brows in dissent. 

“Whatever. Well, hopefully he’ll just sleep it off, so he won’t get in anybody’s-“

As if on cue, Peter stirs, uncurling from his haphazard heap on the couch. He blinks rapidly for a few seconds before his bearings return.

“…Ms. Potts?”

“Hey, kid. You seem worse for wear.”

He grimaces. 

“Yeah, I’ve been better.”

She frowns empathetically. 

“Tell you what. I’ll go run you a shower, and once you’re cleaned up we can get some fluids in you. Sound like a plan?”

Peter immediately looks overwhelmed by this.

“Um, yeah, sure. Thanks, Ms. Potts.”

As she ushers him off to the master bathroom, Pepper shoots Tony a meaningful look and nods towards the couch.

“What?”

She doesn’t respond, and he sighs. 

Ambling over, Tony rearranges a few pillows. 

He goes to turn away, and then strikes him that perhaps a few more pillows could be beneficial. Stealing a couple from the adjacent chaise lounge, he stuffs them at the head of the couch alongside the others. He appraises his handiwork and finishes by spreading out the blanket draped over the couch’s arm. 

Pepper returns to the living room’s entryway.

“Look at you, a regular Martha Stewart.”

He shrugs.

“Add it to my resume. Tony Stark: billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and tasteful interior decorator.”

“I’m glad you brought him, Tony.”

He shifts his weight between feet, immediately uncomfortable with her sincerity.

“I do what I can.”

“I think it means a lot to him that you care. That you go out of your way for him.”

“Jeez, you make it sound like he’s _my_ kid.”

She puts a hand on her hip, looking out of the floor-to-ceiling windows of the adjacent wall.

“He _is_ practically your kid, Tony. He has been since you gave him that suit, since you started chasing his antics all over New York, since you were worried enough about him to bug him and record his every move.”

He glances out of the window as well, if only to avoid looking at her.

“Maybe so.”

Mercifully, the tension is cut by Peter’s reappearance. 

He’s got on a pair of Pepper’s old cotton sweatpants and a T-Shirt reading “What happens in Cabo stays in Cabo” that’s definitely at least a size too big, but overall, he looks improved. His face has a little color returned to it, and his hair is no longer a sweaty mess. 

“Um, can I do my math now?”

Tony fights a smirk.

“Knock yourself out.”

 

***

 

Peter turns out to be an extremely considerate houseguest. Almost immediately, he’s dutifully bundled himself in the couch’s cashmere blanket, laid his books out along the nearby coffee table, and buried his nose silently in a fistful of notes. 

Seeing no reason to interrupt him, Tony vacates the living room in favor of an adjoining office. He tosses FRIDAY’s dashboard up onto the wall, scrolling casually through one of his numerous email accounts.

“Stark Industries revenue calendar…boring. Ritz-Carlton booking confirmation, ugh. Potential conference dates with SHIELD management? No thank you.”

He leans back in his chair, sighing theatrically. 

“FRIDAY, do all of my emails just suck today?”

“I have a notification of a new Armani sale, sir.”

“Now we’re talking.”

A knock on the doorframe interrupts him; he turns to see Pepper, who waves her phone at him.

“I’m going to go take a few calls. Keep an eye on him.”

“I know, I will. What is that? For me?”

He motions to a bowl she’s currently nestled between her elbow and chest.

“No, this is Peter’s soup.”

He gawks at her, and she pulls a face.

“You brought a sick kid into my house, Stark. I am going to take care of him.”

He holds up his hands.

“Alright, your prerogative.”

“Just make sure he doesn’t cough his lungs out, will you?”

She leaves, soup in tow.

Tony remains uninterrupted for another quarter of an hour, before distressed sounds begin to emanate into the office.

He’s in the living room instantly, prepared to witness Peter heaving his guts out. Instead, the kid is just clutching his temples, bent so close over a textbook that his nose is practically touching it. Pepper’s soup sits off to the side, half-eaten.

“Kid? You good?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright, Mr. Stark- it’s just this one problem I can’t get for the absolute life of me.”

Tony puts his hands on his hips in what he imagines is an authoritative manner.

“See, this is why I didn’t want you to bring the math. Now you’re gonna make yourself sicker with stress and probably puke chicken-noodle-whatever all over my carpet, which is expensive, by the way.”

“I won’t puke on your carpet.”

“You better not. Give it a rest for a minute.”

“No, it’s the last one in this section, I gotta finish this, at least.”

Tony’s shoulders deflate slightly in exasperation.

“Let me see it.”

Peter transcribes the problem onto a loose sheet of paper and gravely hands it over. Tony glances at it, unfazed.

“It’s just taking one integral? No sweat.”

Nabbing a pen from the coffee table, he starts scribbling away at the problem. Peter watches this with a peculiar expression, before abruptly reaching over and stopping him.

“No, look, Mr. Stark, the problem says you have to do it through trigonometric substitution.”

“You have to do what now?”

“Here, look, you have to do it this way, otherwise you don’t get all the points.”

Tony is immediately indignant. 

“That’s ridiculous, you should solve the damn problem whatever way you want as long as the answer is right.”

“Well, the test is mainly about the processes, not the solutions.”

Tony reaches over to steal Peter’s textbook, glaring at the open pages.

“What the hell is this stuff? You can’t just _change math_. Math is math!”

He tosses both the book and the problem onto the table.

“I am the best engineer in North America and I’m calling bullshit. Who decided this stuff? I’m going to have to talk to the superintendent.”

Peter scoops his materials back up somewhat sheepishly.

“You know what, Mr. Stark, thanks, but I actually think I can just handle this myself.”

 

***

 

Tony wisely leaves Peter to his own devices for the rest of the day.

At one point in the evening, amidst a particularly lax period of ignoring various obligations, he gets the bright idea to text May and inform her of her nephew’s whereabouts. That’s a chewing-out he’d rather avoid.

Tinkering with a miniature servo motor as he lounges at the kitchen table, Tony clears his throat.

“FRIDAY, open a message to May Parker.”

A small holographic box opens in the air before him.

“Hey, May. It’s Tony Stark. Don’t worry, Peter’s not dead or mutilated or anything, he’s actually mostly fine. He does, however, have some sort of gross head cold going on, so now he’s at my place dealing with that and doing math homework. I’ll return him by the time you get back tomorrow. Send message.”

He flicks at the hologram, and the text box vanishes. 

Tony fumbles with some wires, bored again for a couple moments. This is interrupted by the sound of a few dry, brief coughs from the living room. 

Discarding the motor amidst a small pile of similar projects at the edge of the table, he makes a brief detour to the fridge, where he retrieves a bottled water.

Upon entering the living room, Tony sees Peter slumped into a blanket-wrapped ball. His cheek is stuck to the open pages of his calculus textbook, the pages fluttering as he quietly snores. A few moments later, another raspy cough wracks his frame.

Tony shakes his head, walking over. 

Setting the bottle down carefully on the coffee table, he regards Peter for a moment. The kid, somehow, looks even younger in sleep, where none of his usual worry and panic can reach. 

Tony situates himself against the arm of the couch, rubbing his cheek with his palm. 

This damn kid.

 _His_ damn kid.

No matter how much he hates to admit that Pepper is right, she hit the nail on the head. Peter Parker is many things; he’s irresponsible, headstrong, idealistic, and brilliant, and after all of that, he’s Tony’s kid.

He reaches over to rearrange the blanket somewhat, pulling it up onto Peter’s shoulder. 

Pausing for a moment to consider, Tony shifts his hand to ruffle Peter’s hair, who stretches into the contact in his sleep.

“Hang in there, kid.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my self-indulgent IW coping mechanism.


End file.
